Sharing restaurants, events, recipes, & musings from Connecticut, where summer is a verb & happy hour is a state of mind.

Wednesday, December 3, 2008

So Beautiful, it Almost Makes Me Cry

Sonnet 17I do not love you as if you were salt-rose, or topaz,or the arrow of carnations the fire shoots off.I love you as certain dark things are to be loved,in secret, between the shadow and the soul.

I love you as the plant that never bloomsbut carries in itself the light of hidden flowers;thanks to your love a certain solid fragrance,risen from the earth, lives darkly in my body.

I love you without knowing how, or when, or from where.I love you straightforwardly, without complexities or pride;so I love you because I know no other way

in which there is no I or youso intimate that your hand upon my chest is my handso intimate that when you fall asleep it is my eyes that close